


wasurenagusa

by Dissonencia



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Feudal Japan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissonencia/pseuds/Dissonencia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>life in elopement: when somebody asked if they were married, she said no, he said yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once, when somebody asked if they were married, she said  _no_ , he said  _yes_.

This was a month ago, but Ichigo still pesters Rukia about this.

"What? You're ashamed of me?" he says of course, petulant like a child, and pouting –so horribly, horribly wrong for a man his age, 28.

Rukia likes to think (and is probably true) that she's more mature between the two of them, but she's actually 2 years younger (but sage-like as Renji puts it, fucking know-it-all as Ichigo puts it). She simply –if he's an arm's length- pinches his arms then smacks his head, then tells him coldly.

"It's for our security, you idiot."

"None of your idiot clansmen will find us," he answers, sure of himself, and Rukia hates this confidence wholeheartedly. She wants to agree with him, believe in his confidence -she does, she does, she really really does- but she knows it's not just that. His confidence led him to capture then torture then-

"They are not going to find us," he says again, quieter this time, as if to reassure her.

Rukia doesn't say anything. Somewhere deep, deep, deep, she knows it's to reassure himself. Rukia understands. It's fine, she decides. She has an understanding heart, Ichigo likes to look strong and nonchalant. He doesn't say, but she knows, his shoulders are stiffer than ever, and every leaves rustling brings the same tension a war signal would. He reassures her while he reassures himself and he's failing (but he doesn't know) and she's just being realistic.

This is late afternoon, a lazy, lazy time to just roll around or stay idle in tatami mat, the shoji is wide open, there's the afternoon sunlight, red, and orange, and yellow, and it's quite cold and Ichigo is lying there in the warm tatami mat facing the open shoji, Rukia cradling his head on her lap, the sunset ahead of them, coloring everything in red, orange and yellow.

She just finished changing his bandages and he told her to stay because the sky is just too striking, because they never really had a time like this for them before.

Because people never walk on the same water the second time, the same wind never blows the second time, the same air is never inhaled twice, a moment can never be relived exactly the same twice, Rukia knows this, so she lets him persuade her to stay. She thinks, he has this side of himself, the other side of the skilled warrior, and she kind of adores this side.

This is every day, this is having peace, she thinks, not quite sure how long it will be.

And not quite long, she hears the little snores he makes and brings her palms to his head and rakes his hair slowly, and he snores a bit more.

Rukia, still, has a penchant for wearing white, and him, still, black. Her clothes, more common –simpler than her previous silk and satin sets of robes, jewelry –she wears no jewelry, never really did. And her hair, pulled up into a messy bun with a lone strand hanging. And Ichigo, just like years ago, still wears his standard hakama and gi, but without his black-finished armor and katana.

This is them now, the former noblewoman and the former military commander.


	2. Chapter 2

Two months before winter, Ichigo hacks tree trunks down to sizable pieces for the both of them, he makes sure they have enough to burn for the upcoming weather –however coldly Rukia tells him not to, because, " _your work is crude"_  and " _don't you ever listen to me_?"

But " _your work is crude"_ actually means " _the wounds in your back will hurt more_ " and " _don't you ever listen to me_?" means " _please_   _don't think about me; think about yourself_."

But he still does it because it's what a responsible ( _"a responsible man won't run straight to danger without thinking?!")_ hardworking (" _make your own soup!"_ and  _"I said get up! It's late already!")_ and honest  _("Rukia, I swear I don't know how you lost your clothes while we sleep!")_ man would do.

He  _does_  because he got rid of his katana and blood and death and his hands are finally free to hold her. Blood-soaked and shaking but free, and she welcomes him, and he holds tight; he's not letting go.

And they ran away. And found an old house. And he keeps his katana only to protect her (and cut woods for burning and hunt food – _no rabbit, no rabbit, no rabbit_ \- she tells him,  _I'll kill you_ ). And he thinks it's just like being married, so he does these things, these manly things, because women aren't supposed to-

"Idiot, get back in the house and rest," Rukia barks at him –miffed no less.

-do these things. But his Rukia is different.

"I can do that," carrying her own form of blade-sort, like a small rusty scythe, she marches to his side like a stubborn little woman.

"No," his answer is firm and brings down his sword to slice more of the wood, his military training had ran its course, now he's only good for this and occasional deer or lambs but never rabbits, never ever rabbits.

"Ichigo," she isn't joking.

But he won't budge. "Where did you get that?" he eyes the thing and her petite form and her smirking face.

She shrugs, "It's just there," she says and she means the house.

Their house is somewhere, somewhere far, in the middle of woods, not quite far from the small village, but far enough to conceal them. He thinks it was a former outpost from a noble war clan, it's huge, has a destroyed wall section and nature found its way inside, but it's well-concealed and they can live here  _forever_  after modifications. She thinks it won't last long, but it will keep him safe until he recovers.

There are many trees nearby and Ichigo, while injured, has taken that stupid, stupid notion of doing only-man-can-do things (like cutting down wood) seriously and she knows he's just a plain, stupid idiot –his back is injured, wounded, slashed. (But she also knows this is his idea of what should married people do.) But still, he is an idiot –but he's her idiot.

Rukia takes some pile of woods, balancing it while her other arm holds the small scythe. Ichigo huffs (and whispers something about women and blades) and walks to her and attempts to help her but she kicks his shin without any warning.

"What the fuck-? I'm injured!" he wails as he massages his shin tenderly.

"Exactly, so get back in the house and keep quiet," she says dismissively and drops the woods. She sits and fixes the hems of her furisode then holds one ( _wrong_  –he knows) then proceeds to cut it off slowly like one would to a vegetable.

 _Women_ –he thinks, then  _Rukia._

He watches (in disbelief; she looks passionate) her for several minutes while she cuts the woods like vegetables before mumbling, "oh shit, you're doing it wrong."

Rukia looks at him dirtily and remarks "Go sleep somewhere in the house, Ichigo."

"You do it in one strong hit," he says and walks over to her still holding his sword, "like when you want to chop something really hard and really fast-" he does a demonstration, "-like that." And Rukia dismisses him once more, "go away," and cuts her piece of wood slowly like vegetables still.

"You're hopeless," Ichigo scoffs and takes a chunk of wood, "why don't you just do it with me?"

Rukia looks up at him, he grins, of course, it's like she could hear it; married people do things together.

– _her idiot_.

"–no, go away."


	3. Chapter 3

It's not really a wedding by definition and tradition, it's not really san san kudo, there's no sakazuki to drink from.

There were fireflies, it was night, they were in a pond surrounded by trees, and there were bluebells, there were stars, and the moon was there; a great big white dot in the sky and it was shining so bright, so so bright. And the water was only knee-deep but they were immersed in it and she was kneeling, his whole bloodied body desperately clinging to life. She was washing his wounds, was calming him –she wasn't calm herself, was wiping the blood from him with her dress as she held his head and shushed him and told him he's not going to die. Her heart was beating, too loud, too strong, like it was going to give out anytime. " _I'm marrying you now_ ," he said, and she was frantic and frantic, and so so frantic. " _Don't say anything_ ," she said, her voice gave out and it wasn't raining and she hated it that he was trying to sound jovial and she kept on swatting his hand away for trying to cup her face, and she hated it that he was like this. " _I'm marrying you now, damn it_!"  _Yes_ , she wanted to scream, but she said, " _No, live another day then marry me, you idiot_ -"

–all is well now, because she's his wife and he's her husband –though not officiated by any Shinto priest but that's fine because it's not really about the labels.

 _I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours_.

 


	4. Chapter 4

iv.

He retires to bed after her, he kisses her shoulder, and whispers, "we have tomorrow," and tomorrow and tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

v.

(He still calls her a bitch when the need for it arises, then steals a kiss afterwards, because that's what they do.)

" _Bitch_ ," he scoffs, walking ten paces from her.

They are in the village market, busy and loud with peddlers, cramped and filled with smoke from stalls, sunlit and grubby, bright and the heat is not as scorching as the middle of summertime.

He makes sure to walk ten paces behind her, katana tied in a sash around his middle, watching her go about her list, keeping a steady distance between them and being alert for any

Rukia wears a yellow furisode and simple tabi and geta, she walks gracefully –and it's her first time in a shabby place. And of course, there are stares and whisperings.

It's the house they built and the home they made; adorable little couple living in the woods –most of the older villagers say. (Rukia is not so happy about this or any other whisperings, " _security_ " she reminds him sternly, reminiscent of her brother, because they are drawing attention.)

So he walks ten paces from her -as per her request- the _security_ thing. They can't be seen together, "your hair is too bright, it will draw unnecessary attention," she said before marching out of their home without a second glance at him.

Then he scoffs behind her, _like she won't draw attention to herself_. Rukia still walks that graceful noble walk, still holds her chin high, and still acts daintily polite while she picks up vegetables for inspection. And really, what poor woman won't draw attention to herself while she inspects a mere vegetable with the finesse of a noblewoman from a lavish court –so he scoffs again, "bitch," and she tells him to, "stay away, Ichigo."

Rumors say (one) he's a bandit wanted for so many, many counts of crime ( _why does he have a weapon for if not for looting and killing, hm?_ ) and she's a young courtesan trying to escape that wretched life ( _because really, people coldly say, "a poor woman can't be that beautiful and polished, unless of course, she sells her body_ ") and they met at a brothel one night.

Ichigo heard this once and told Rukia and she reacted like her old self, "this is pointless, but it is threatening our security." And he teased her still, the idea of a courtesan and a bandit running away isn't bad. (Except the courtesan bit, because _there's_ _no_ _fucking way_.)

While Rukia debates the trader about the benefits of potato over yam, he steadies himself against a wooden column near her. He thinks this somehow fits Rukia and that he'd be glad to do this without having to hide.

(A while later, when she finished all her list and they entered the forest tree line, Ichigo took her satchel and hooked it on him then carried her on his back while climbing back to the old house.)


	6. Chapter 6

vi.

Ishida (the former second in command) visits them regularly because he knows where they are and he won't tell anyone anything under all kinds of death threats and nasty tortures; because he cares for them like they're his own kin.

Sometimes, he brings Inoue with him because he thinks Inoue - _Inoue-san, or Orihime-san_ on rare occasions- would very much enjoy taking care of the flowers surrounding his idiot former general's gloomy hideaway at least once in a while.

Inoue-san's feminine presence can keep the idiot's dainty former noblewoman wife-not-wife company because he knows it's easier to drive oneself to the edge of the cliff to escape insanity than stay with his general for months.

Inoue-san is conversant about bees and bats and lilies and stones, and Kuchiki-san - _err, Kurosaki-san? He doesn't really know what to call her at this point_ \- patiently listens to her wild ramblings.

Once, Ishida might have disliked the former noblewoman's flawless and mechanical reactions to everything, he thought she was putting up with Inoue-san out of cold politeness and not because she was genuinely interested to be her friend –and that he was insulted for Inoue-san.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

vii.

His general. His general. His general. Ishida still calls him his general.

" _Ahh_ ," – _ahh_ , the default and sarcastic introductory noise coming from Ishida whenever he's about to comment on something Ichigo did- "I see you're still alive, Kurosaki." It's a compliment.

"I see you're still an asshole," smirks Ichigo, and then lowers his katana. He's fixing the house for Rukia and him, because they could live here forever.

Ichigo stands there, he doesn't say but he's grateful to all of Ishida's help. Ishida knows this.

"Not quite," answer Ishida sardonically, straightening his sleeve and tucking his elbows and what's left of his upper limbs in. Ishida has lost his left arm; he's not an archer anymore.

Then they would snipe at each other, and Ichigo would ask him about his departure even before he is seated.

And they would talk more over sake Ishida bought, more of old friends than old rivals, and Ishida would tell himself, Kurosaki is not his general anymore.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

viii.

Inoue had been kind and weaved clothes for their use, simpler and less noble and less military and boast none of their previous lives' complexities.

Rukia, he thinks, is better with these clothes.

Rukia had been duty, Rukia had been honor, Rukia had been pride and Rukia would have been death. She won't look at him with these bright eyes. He knows she had no plans of living happily or carefree or untroubled, for she is fire frosted in ice and the shadow of her clansmen who adopted her loomed everywhere and constantly told her to bring them no shame added layers and layers to that ice. And that Ichigo had to coax her to actually live a life, had to deal slash against slash, match blood for blood, and skull for skull.

"Is that a peach blossom?" he points to the hem of her furisode where the flowers twirl and blossom. It is night and they are both preparing to go to sleep.

"Yes, Ishida helped Inoue design those."

"I thought so, the man is a damn pansy-" he earns a quick and light arm slap from Rukia, "what?"

"Be grateful, you idiot," She says and rests her head against his chest and his chin on her head and he feels like he had known her in his other lives before this.

There is some form of tangible serenity in the winds tonight even if there is no moon, the shoji is open and his arms tighten around Rukia and he feels her lips lightly touch his neck and whispers a good night wish and she looks at him one last time before reclining back in his chest.

Ichigo sees the stars in Rukia's eyes and his heart on her hands and he remembers how to breathe.

He thinks it's the start of a happy ending because they found an old house and made a home out of it, it's the warm mist of her breath when she leans closer to him to snuggle during cold afternoons and nights and he puts his arms around her –no longer awkward because she welcomes him and no one is watching and they're not pretending and he sighs contentedly.


	9. Chapter 9

He recovers ridiculously fast; he’s out diving in the sea at night already.

She ponders, not that surprising because his family is  _monstrous_  in strength, and he’s still in his prime.

(and there’s another side to this: he could have been the strong, dashing, accomplished man in his city,  _who_ , will enjoy the rest of his life pain-free and problem-less and carefree; or could be this hero with a dutiful wife and children residing in a vast manor; or could be this formidable man leading what’s left of his city into complete restoration. So, so much potential, Rukia laments, so much potential that were lost because he chose to be with her. All these potentials and chances and could-have-beens she took from him and that her heart will never be at peace and that there will always be a flaw in her smile)

Rukia skirts the rocky shore line, hopping gracefully rocks to rocks, watching his bright head disappears and reappears down and above the water, occasionally looking back to check on her. She carries with her his discarded clothes and a thin towel.

It is night, and she said just this afternoon:   _can we go somewhere?_ (then quietly adds seconds later: _like somewhere for a change, you know, a change, instead of these four decrepit walls_ )

And he brought her to a place where stars and sea meet, and she thinks how much she dislikes his romanticism sometimes.

“Rukia!" he calls, as rough and as playful as ever, waiving at her from the water, a discernible wide grin plastered on his face and her chest flutters a little, "-Rukia, come here!"

She ignores him of course, and sits farther from the shore.

“Rukia!” he calls again, and when she turns her head side to side:  _no, you idiot_ , his head disappears down the water.

"We can go wherever you want," he rasps, emerging from the rocky shoreline very naked and very wet and very dripping. Rukia automatically digs into her bundle of fabrics to look for the towel and rubs it around him as he nears her, tiptoeing as she does. Not blushing severely, for she had seen him like this multiple times already.

“Ru-kia,” he starts, in between her vicious drying attempts, he holds her shoulders and steadies her, “would you like to go somewhere else?” he asks seriously.

“No, Ichigo.”

“Huh?” the scowl that became his trademark reappears, “then why ask me out then?” he snaps and folds his arms over his chest.

“I was thinking of you,” comes her answer, busy drying his chest and torso –like a devoted wife, “I thought you might want to go out, you know, because I know you’re crazy-bored,” Rukia turns around (she’s grinning, still elegant in a way) to get to his broad back and rub it dry viciously as well, “and I know how much of an adventurous man you are, you can’t stay put.”

Ichigo feels the smile in her voice and he feels his chest swells and his large hands shot out and pulls her to him.

“W-what?” Rukia stammers, her face pressed in his neck. He’s so, so ridiculously tall that she’s lifted a few inches off the rock yet _only_ reaches his neck.

“You’d really make a good mother, Rukia,” he says softly, “you’re really, really caring.”

 _Oh_. Rukia stiffens and her arms drop to her side.

“I like kids,” he whispers, “Rukia, do you like kids?”

This, she dreads from Ichigo. She knows, since the day he said they could live like this –in this elopement- _forever_ , she knows he will eventually ask this.  

“I don’t like children,” she answers quietly and it’s true and untrue at the same time, “I don’t want children, Ichigo.”


	10. Chapter 10

Rukia writes letters for Ichigo. (but doesn’t tell him)

Times when he isn’t looking or busy or sleeping or hunting, she writes him letters. She has with her always a paper and an ink and a branch or twig that can be substituted as a pen.

She tells him why she doesn’t want children; why she doesn’t want a family; why she doesn’t want what he wants. 

She tells him: I don't think this will last long. I think I'll hurt you. 


	11. Chapter 11

Ichigo possesses a very small heart. There are parts for Isshin and Karin and Yuzu and Masaki and some of his friends and the majority of it: Rukia.(he tells himself: I can be selfish now)

Rukia, meanwhile, possesses a very huge heart. He thinks even the small family of bunnies he found in the woods has a place in it. But Kuchiki clan runs _duty_ before blood in their veins. There’s her duty, her brother, her city, the bunny family (from the woods), that fat bunny (her pet from Sereitei), everyone she cared for and _him_. But that's the downside to it. She loves too much, she cares too much, she sacrifices too much that sometimes he wonders if she’s just staying with him out of kindness (out of duty).

(maybe she’ll leave him someday. This, he suspects, because she refuses to start a life with him –no no no no no)

He endures all those times she scribbles in her letters, wondering what she’s telling him soundlessly.

 


	12. i, the sun

Life’s worth, as he remembers the lessons of scholars in Suigetsu, is measured on the lives touched, the accomplishments that benefited people. _This_ , he ignored for a good fraction of his life. And his clan agrees so. Kurosaki clan runs  _combat_  before blood in their veins. Kurosaki clan  _makes_  blood spill. Kurosaki hearts beat the loudest in battle.

 

Realistically for him, life is more on great wars and great wins and great victors, and the sunset splattered with his enemy’s blood, ensuring the _survival_ of his men until the next morning and then the next, exacted retaliation, bloodshed  _he believed_ for a reason –but this, too, is no longer  _his_  case. 

 

(he can be selfish, he tells himself)

 

Life, as Ichigo knows it, is this forest, this damaged large house, the four walls with peeling paper and bent wooden frames, the flame at the center of it, and two small hands that comfort him. The galloping horses, his katana, the heads he collected seem a lifetime away –much like a woozy dream after a night of drinking, like an ocean he doesn't want to swim into.

 

(he can be selfish, he tells himself again and again and again. He closed life in a hundred meter around his new home; it becomes his truth) 

 

Now: life is the break of dawn, beside her, having that first contented sigh of the day even before getting out of bed, feet warm and head buzzing with the plans for the day.

 

(those and the sliding dew on the leaves from last night’s rain, blooming forget-me-nots pushing in their yard, the cold whisper from the incoming winter, the feel of a warm sunlit morning on one’s back, the smell of a home-cooked meal, the cooling effect of river water under the tree shades, these are life’s little perfect moments that people often overlook in favor of the daily busy routines to survive –survive, not live, there’s a difference between survival and living. These quiet moments slow down people and make them more appreciative and give fewer complaints. And certainly, Ichigo has never been more appreciative before, or more specifically, Ichigo never _lived_ before, because surviving is worrying about the next day, living is appreciating every second the heart beats)

 

Ichigo’s hand hovers above hers; she’ll give him a squeeze when she wakes up –she always does. She snores a bit, quietly, adorably, cushioned in him, her tiny fists balled against his chest and her head between his neck and shoulder and his arm around her.

 

(and Kurosakis are intensely devoted and desperately passionate)

 

Because he no longer has a blood-drunk heart, he no longer feels the urge to wake up extremely early, rigid and disciplined to death, to run and train and shorten his adversaries’ lifespan.

 

(and no eyes burned brighter and fiercer than Kurosaki eyes)

 

But nowadays, there’s more mirth in his eyes: child-like and excited and thrilled; someone who looks forward to mornings and breakfasts and midday naps and afternoon wanderings and dinners outside their cottage.

 

Then there’s a light squeeze.

 

Ichigo tries to keep off the very goofy grin in his face, and that’s just how much he appreciates waking up with her every morning and he’s never really eloquent-

 

“Yo, _shorty_ ,” _he can_ of course, a morning-teased Rukia is adorable.

 

He winces at the slight pain on his chest as her little teeth sunk in for an answer. (and he might have to re-think about an adorable morning-teased Rukia)

 

The bundle of black tresses moves and she stares down at him, glazed eyes and rosy and bright and very pretty. And the night collapses and this is a new day.

 

“ _Ichigo_.”

 

He’s not counting the days. There’s no longer a conflict. This is when he thinks of his future.

 

Life will be: a kid in the coming months and years (many, many kids, maybe).

 

 

 

 


	13. dreamcatcher

 

Rukia doesn't know much about sweet nothings and daydreams and musings and warm mornings.

 

Rukia doesn’t –as opposed to Ichigo- appreciate the dew sliding in the leaves during morning and warm sunlit daybreak and forget-me-nots in their  _unsecured_  yard, these –she believes- are  _given_ , nothing poetic or striking, just day to day small things that inevitably happen as the hours go, she does not see their significance as they are only worth a glance then gone. Rukia dismisses them.

 

(women from Kuchiki clan do not waste time)

 

She’s more concerned about the bigger things: his healing; when he can ride the horse again; when he can wield his katana again to defend himself; when he can go back to his family.

 

(she plans to let him go after he makes full recovery –because this isn’t really an elopement, there is no happy ending for people like them, there are things more important than them sharing a home and living a life together, some things take precedence over the foolish thrum of their hearts: the welfare of her people whom she left after the conflict between their lands; the people in his land looking up at him for direction. _This_ temporary life together is the only _and_ final gift she could give him, they cannot be selfish)

 

Rukia does, however, count the days. “ _We don’t have tomorrow_ ,” and tomorrow and tomorrow, she keeps this to herself all the time. There is always end to everything.

 

She hopes memories will be enough.

 

.

.

.

 

When he says and asks:

 

“We’ll build a better wall, they will never find us.”

 

“We can live here forever.”

 

“Do you like children, Rukia?”

 

She answers:

 

“I don’t think this will last long…”

 

“Ichigo,” her answer stops there, “ _Ichigo,”_ because there’s nothing more to say. This is not an eventual truth; this is a doomed dream.

 

“No, I don’t like children.”

 

These are half-truths and half-lies.

.

.

.

 

-and he’s never really eloquent.

 

“ _Yo, shorty_.”

 

He likes mornings, she could tell that: he’s always bright and grinning and ready and it’s like she could see a glimpse of an alternate future: enticing and colorful and endless.

 

(and it’s like a katana pierced her heart)

 

But today, decidedly, she _should_ feel the same –she bits into his chest.

.

.

.

 

Rukia dismisses the small things that make life more meaningful; Rukia counts the days; Rukia tells half-truths and half-lies answers. But Rukia, oh just this one, she permits herself this one: _she dreams_.

 

She dreams of warm miso soup and fish in rainy evenings, their little family huddled around a small table, keeping everyone warm; she dreams of mornings woken by loud laughter and cheerful shouts calling her okaa-san; she dreams of Ichigo, loud and brash and a doting father and the man she’ll never part from; she dreams of…she dreams of–

 

 _–maybe not in this lifetime, Ichigo_.

 


	14. Chapter 14

One night, when Rukia is slowly removing the bandages on Ichigo’s torso, she remembers: Ichigo kisses the same way he fights-

In a way that there is fluid, unbending focus: he is fiery and eager: a heart set aflame and fingertips alight with stars. But there are surprising warmth and _affection_ and wordless promises of home and adoration and forever. The simple truth: Ichigo says much more when he acts.

One night, when the rain is a soft trickle down their patched roof and the sky is an expanse of deep black and the moon is a blurred crescent and there are fireflies in their yard, Ichigo kisses her.

(he kisses after weeks and weeks of pain and hard won battles and sleeping unsoundly and he’s never been honest using words)

One night, Ichigo sits cross-legged in front of her; his clothes are drawn off waist up. His wounds turned thin red, Rukia thinks gaily, but then, still bright. So her arms and hands began to work carefully around him. And he lets her work.

Today had been busy –tiring even, and the sun rose differently as it does every day: today is rich and blinding. (Yesterday, the sun rose clammy and the sky is bruised blue: was a rainy day, Rukia danced in it and Ichigo watched.) Ichigo collected tree trunks and had them stored in the back rooms and Rukia went to buy food to cook. It was afternoon when both settled for a nap near the river, a shaded tree spot and quiet musings. The sun set slowly today, in shimmering blood orange and patches of dark clouds signaling a chilly, night rain –over all, a good day.

“I’ll work on the furnace and back rooms tomorrow –it’s facing the river, more access,” he tells her softly.

Rukia replies a simple, “hmn,” and slips her arm behind him, and the other, to reach for the bandage.

“Rukia,” he says and she looks up, the easy grin he flashes makes her confuse about him being seventeen or twenty-eight. “I think you’ll like that.” (but he grins bright and wide nonetheless, and her heart flutters like wild butterflies under the sunshine)

But then: a promise. “Yes, of course.” Maybe.

Ichigo is wide and tall, and every time she fixes his bandaging, he would help her reach around –which is both a big help and an irritating move.

“Short-limbed,” he tells her playfully (but not at all offensive) as he guides her arm around him, he wears a faint smirk and he takes his time touching her.

“Ichigo –just-” she starts. _Stop. Don’t move. Let’s sleep now_.

Ichigo is seventeen in smirks and playful bouts and rugged vocabulary; so much of a teenage boy. But he is twenty-eight (or older) in taking care of her; a man who anticipates their needs and quickly gets things done efficiently and never fails to spend time with her.

Also, Ichigo is simple: he adores or adores not; he kisses her ardently. Something definitely like that.

She thinks he’s planned _this_ (but probably not because the idiot hacks with his beating heart and blood coursing in his veins at the moment so it couldn’t be it couldn’t be). Ichigo directs her arms around him –on his torso, “you sneaky idiot,” Rukia hisses solemnly. Ichigo’s reply is a cross of cool grin and annoying smirk, “no.”

It has been many moons ago when he last slept with her and he is deathly attractive and it’s just so easy to think of him and her and the universe.

It’s slightly mechanical when he puts both of his palms on her neck steadies his head and slowly eases himself down to lightly kiss her lips. It’s slightly mechanical, somewhat automatic and kind of involuntary; kissing Rukia is a habit he had not practiced for weeks. And so his lips settle on light nips and his mouth on licks. His thumbs massaging her cheek and chin and his fingers firm on her neck.

Rukia, for her part, remains unmoving when he asks for more and presses deeper. She doesn’t know if she is to be surprised; she expected him.

Rukia feels him burn so real and tough close to her. He really is a man now, she thinks, closing her eyes and letting him stir her. Her hands moving up his deftly defined back to his shoulders, feeling the thickness and the hardness flex on her touch. Ichigo _can_ cover her small form easily –something she secretly likes for the comfort and ease he provides. (on the other hand, pinning her on their bed and holding her up against a wall are different –these are things he blatantly likes)

She meets his tongue, opening slightly and letting him enter –a small moan suppressed. A deeper tilt, he holds her face steady.

 _Ichigo kisses the same way he fights_ \- but then, not entirely so, Rukia concludes: for all his ruggedness outside, he approaches her soft and yielding and smooth.

“I thought I’d remind you,” he tells her afterwards, scowling and annoyingly good-looking and sincere.

One night, when the rain is cold and Ichigo is kissing her: her heart bleeds painfully with an aching hope.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do excuse, i think it's rusty.

Ichigo intends to make good of his yesterday’s plan. So with the morning still somewhat dark blue and peeking from the holes on the shoji screen and its hinges, he slowly untangles himself from Rukia – her form curled and half-hidden by the quilt they share and hands fisted on his clothes. He uncurls her fingers one by one.

Ichigo leaves Rukia to begin work on first light, but not before tracing her arm and giving her hand a light squeeze, quietly wishing her a happy morning and lingering there. In some ways, she makes the daily steady stream of life hard: in getting up; in leaving the warmth to pursue the day. But just the same, she makes the day enduring and bearable, like a reliable thought for comfort, to return to that warmth every night. 

.

.

.

Ichigo troops to the back rooms under the dimly lit early morning, remembering the wood carvings, the columns that need repair, the rooms that no longer function, and the  _ shoji  _ screens that were torn down years before they settled into this place. 

Ichigo wants to make it a home, so he thinks of demolishing a portion of the compound to make it smaller, more family-friendly. Both he and Rukia never really wanted big things - endless manors and  _ karesansui  _ gardens - they take too much space, and time, and effort, they are not very practical. 

.

.

.

When Rukia wakes up, the morning’s warm brightness fully seeps into their room - Ichigo likes to open the  _ shoji  _ screen, as if the sun is to greet her in his place when he’s not able to.  

This is a troubling change - waking up very late, muses Rukia, pushing the cover off her, and promptly changing to her plum day clothes. 

Rukia would not allow herself unnecessary sleep if she could help it, but Ichigo - all warm and steady - asks (forces) her to. So every night, Rukia grudgingly (a bit, really) lays her head on his chest, and she’ll let his hands settle on her shoulder and around her waist and he’ll be steady - his heartbeat is very steady, too. It’s hardly an embrace, he whispers to her every night. It is an embrace, fool, she whispers back. 

Rukia neatly folds the cover and the futon they share, tucking them under a table, then moves to dust the sides of their room’s  _ engawa  _ \- some night wind brought in leaves and petals and red, plump cherries all of which she scoops into a bowl for later snacking. 

The day starts out powder blue today, but Rukia lingers on the outdoor floorwood, holding her small broom and looking at the gray streaks from the sky far right, wary of afternoon rains. Ichigo has gone ahead, to work in the other rooms just like he promised, just as he promised to make this a home for them. Rukia thinks of bringing him spare clothes just in case. 

On her way out, after fitting the red-laced  _ geta  _ he’s given her, she pauses and thinks, still holding his clothes: this is almost  _ too  _ dutiful _ ,  _ like a wife, and remembers bitterly that she has not been raised as such; if Kurosakis run combat before blood in their veins, then Kuchikis run duty before blood in their veins.  

.

.

.

In the back area, where a number of rooms collapsed due to war or nature, Rukia sees Ichigo sorting through decades’ worth of debris, bending and flinging wood and rocks easily, towering in his height and dressed in black - its sleeves are pulled up and tied, his forearms are showing. His katana is sheathed and leaning on a tree near him. He’s not looking her way. 

Ichigo has recovered well, Rukia quietly observes with her hawkish stare, he’s recovered well-ahead of her prediction. He  _ does  _ have the means to run combat before blood. 

Noticing Rukia’s presence, Ichigo inclines his head towards her and barks, “oi!” 

He lets go of a wood pile and meets her there - closes the distance - and asks smugly, “what took you so long?” 

But something is swelling in his chest, and he flashes her a grin, “am I that too comfortable sleeping w-?” 

“You were snoring loudly,” cuts Rukia’s cool answer, and characteristically returns his smug stare, “- and I did not sleep well, can’t you do something about that?” 

“Ha!” Ichigo says, his longer orange hair is tousled, and he grins bigger - like a child, but handsomer, “deal with it, woman.”

Rukia narrows her eyes but chooses to ignore his quip and strides past him. On some days, they just spoil for a fight. 

(Ichigo does not, of course, snore, and he is, as he says he is, comfortable sleeping with) 

She sits by the tree where his katana is leaning against and neatly lays his spare clothes on a tree stump he created. There’s a warm cup of tea he keeps and grainy bread, and she drinks all and eats all spitefully. Maybe she’ll join him sort debris or manhandle him, or pick up weeds, or split firewoods, or fish for lunch. 

“I already fished for lunch,” he yells at her, pointing to a blob of wet nets filled plump bass and some minnows, “go make soup or something.”

“No,” Rukia tells him, picking up a rusty _ono_ \- hatchet and picking up a piece of firewood, “you make soup.” 

.

.

.

Rukia is right, rains fell mid-afternoon. They hurry back to their room - mostly Rukia pulling Ichigo, their clothes are flapping and already very soaked. Half of his work is unfinished and the insides of the back rooms became puddled with rainwater, his spare clothes had been useless.

Rains in between trees are clearer, vivid forest green and clearwater, Ichigo looks around in mild wonder while Rukia half-drags him - anxious to get home, she hasn’t got the time.

They reach their room’s  _ engawa _ , Rukia hurries inside, out to get dry towels or clothes and to light firewoods, but Ichigo chooses to remain outside and sit on the floorwood while the cool rainwater beats on him. 

Rukia is miffed, she pokes her head out and on her arms are bundles of dry clothes, behind her is the crackling of fire, “what are you doing?! Come inside!”

Ichigo turns to her, unaffected by the rain, and then points to the sky where - oddly, is not as gray, “Rukia, do you see? There’s the sun, I don’t even know why it’s raining.”

.

.

.

Ichigo went out shortly after the rain ended (and after he’d taken a proper bath), there’s a quick, important trip he must make, he told her. She made no follow up questions, as she had more amusement on his use of the term important. He left his katana. 

In the meantime, with good two hours before sundown, Rukia is making use of what’s left of the natural light, she is mending his  _ tabi  _ and some of her clothes, cutting off frayed edges or overlong sleeves _ , _ but is making little progress. She is not used to any sort of domesticity other than what is done during wake and burial and marriage. She has been taught, but her tutors did not particularly dwell on such matter, Kuchiki women do not sew.

There’s been a flash of envy when she learned that Ichigo knows needlework better than her, born out of necessity as he often spearheads battles - effectively without sewing aid from his sisters. 

Before, during the same afternoon hours, Rukia would pore over clan letters and compose answers, and would involve herself with much political query and strategies, Kuchiki women - after all - do not spend their time sewing. 

.

.

.

Rukia is emptying the bowl of cherries which caught rainwater when she hears a familiar grumble nearby. She looks down on the bowl, if anything, the cherries became good and firm and ripe for eating, not soggy. Ichigo would like them. 

Then after a minute, Ichigo stumbles into their room with a sack of - what it looked like - rice, some  _ koku _ . 

“I helped out,” he said, setting down the sack, and looking tired, "I got this in return." There’s a farm nearby, cultivated by old families whose eldest sons died serving a  _ daimyo _ .

Ichigo goes to join Rukia on the  _ engawa  _ and eyes the bowl of cherries, Rukia offers him, and he takes two.

The evening is a wispy dark blue with thin clouds, the moon has not yet shown but there are very bright stars. Fireflies are starting to come out and glower about.  _ Ahh _ , Rukia thinks, they will be gone in a month.

“You’re a farmer now?” she asks when Ichigo settles beside her. 

Ichigo looks at her pointedly for a long time, Rukia has long seen the changes in him, how he’s seemingly more alive now, devoid of blood lust, and evenly calmer and satisfied. Then he lays down beside her, and makes her lap a pillow.  

  
“Maybe,” the former general tells her and he falls asleep just as quickly.


End file.
